“Go ahead.”
“Won’t you please come to dinner to-morrow night? That’s what mother’s note’s about. It would be a great favor to me. It would straighten everything out. You won’t have to do any further deceiving.”
He went on with his work. After a while he asked: “Does your Peter think you love him?”
The color mounted in her cheeks. But it was in the accents of truth that she replied: “He knows I don’t.”
“And if I came I’d not be helping to deceive him as to what you think of him?”
“No—on my honor.”
He looked at her. “No’s quite enough,” said he, in a tone that made her thrill with pride. “I think you are truthful.”
“And I am—with you,” said she, her expression at its very best. “I’d be ashamed to lie to you. Not that I’ve always been quite—quite—painfully accurate——”
“I understand. You and I mean the same thing when we say truthful.”
“Will you come?”